Man of the House
by Dora
Summary: A precursor to Bent, Pete and Kitty Wisdom have died, leaving their children to feel the after effects.


DISCLAIMERS: Douglas Samuel Wisdom is a creation of my own, and belongs entirely to me. Mayana Drake is a joint creation of myself and Zanne, who also owns Samantha and Benjamin Dayspring-Summers. Angela Katherine Wisdom belongs to Sil. Akili Constantine is bratly's property. Simon Carstairs, duh, is Simon's. Amy and Lily Drake are Gabby's. All recognizable characters are either property of Marvel Comics, or DC/Vertigo -- I do not claim to own them, nor am I making a profit off of this story, so bugger the hell off if it offends you.   


NOTES: If you can't recognize a character in this story, then it's pretty likely that they're part of the AOL Marvel RPG I participate in. Angela Katherine Wisdom is the first and only daughter of Katherine Pryde-Wisdom and Peter Wisdom, born in the year 2000. Douglas Samuel Wisdom is their first and only son, born late 2004. In our determined timeline, Kitty and Pete meet their respective maker early 2019, immediately after their second marriage, and their daughter's nineteenth birthday. If you're curious about any of the characters within the RPG, there are several sites which can be visited for further information.   


Also, many thanks to bratly, Sil and Simon for volunteering to RP some of this out. Particularly you, brat -- Rom's a real bitch to write. Lastly, I believe the idea of using Chantinelle as a guardian over the Pryde/Wisdom spawn was Luba Kmetyk's idea first, so all the points for being smert go to her.   


* * *

  
-----  
January 10, 2019  
Muir Isle, Scotland  
-----   


"Douglas, I realize that yuir sister is still in shock, which is why I'm appealing tae y'instead. Yuir mother spent a fair share of her time making plans just in case something like this ever occurred, even when she and yuir father were separated..."   


Doug Wisdom nodded, not really listening to what Moira MacTaggert had to say. The fourteen year-old boy realized how incredibly rude it was, something not entirely of his nature, but justified his lack of attention by working on a more immediate problem at hand; the grief which permeated the small Scottish island was beginning to overwhelm his thin, recently formed empathic shields. While Douglas had always loved his parents more than life itself, he wasn't ready to fall into a mad, unnatural depression and join them quite yet.   


"...which is why I think the two of y'should stay here on Muir, if only for yuir sister's sake."   


"I appreciate the offer an awful lot, Dr. MacTaggert..." Here it was. His automatic response to the same offer everyone had extended so far. Just slide in a new name, and he was set. 'I appreciate the offer an awful lot, Aunt Sammy...' 'I appreciate the offer an awful lot, Aunt Amy, Uncle Bobby...' 'I appreciate the offer an awful lot, Aunt Romany...'   


"...but I really think that Angie and I have to work this out on our own."   


"Douglas, yuir sister is in _shock._ It could be dangerous for her tae continue on like this."   


He recognized Dr. MacTaggert's concern -- the Scottish woman was damned near oozing it -- but bristled nonetheless. If Doug Wisdom was anything, it was his mother's son. Her fierce streaks of stubborness and independence were just a small percentage of the things Kitty had bequeathed unto him.   


"That's why I'll be keeping a close eye on her, Dr. MacTaggert." Despite himself, despite the promise he'd made to not cry in public, tears pricked at his dark eyes. He was fourteen, his parents were dead in some stupid accident, his sister was practically a zombie, and he was forced to act like the man of the house. Doug wasn't sure whether to laugh, or cry.   


After a long, introspective moment, Moira nodded. She could keep an eye on the children without having to hover over them, after all. "Ye'll be staying in yuir apartment, then?" Blinking back unbidden tears, Doug returned her nod, and Moira quietly marveled. The boy hardly stood over five feet tall, but at that moment, his stance was utterly Peter Wisdom's. There'd be no changing his mind.   


"If that's what y'feel is best, Douglas. If yuir sister tries anything out of the ordinary, however, I expect an immediate call." There. That was her Don't Mess With Dr. MacTaggert voice, the one that everyone listened to, like it or not.   


Taking a deep breath, Doug fought back a shaky, watery sigh. "Yes'm," he murmured. It was the coined phrase of his surrogate family, the Drakes, and Moira recognized it as a sign that he was ready to break into tears -- something neither of the Wisdom children had so far done in public. Around anyone, for that matter, which only furthered the strangeness. She murmured a few more condolences before backing away towards the majority of others who'd attended Pete and Kitty's funeral.   


A large percentage were hovering near Angela Wisdom. She'd never been as social, or even as likeable as her brother, but it was Angie -- Angel, as Doug called her -- who seemed to need the most support. In accordance with Jewish tradition (for both Kitty and Doug's sake, more than anything; Pete had started out Catholic, but over the years, had gradually veered away from religion, while Angie had been left to make her own religious choices, something that never seemed to occur to her), Katherine and Peter had been buried only two days after their deaths, but even in such a short period of time, Angie had become distant, almost catatonic. The day of the funeral itself -- today -- Doug had panicked upon realizing that his sister wouldn't even dress on her own. Only hours before, he'd been silently thanking every god he'd ever been acquainted with for providing him with Romany Wisdom, Amy Drake, and Samantha Dayspring-Summers.   


Occasionally, those who became unnerved by the vacant stare in Angie's large blue eyes would cast a concerned (sometimes pitying) glance Doug's way, but few had actually approached, thanks to the strong empathic waves of "stay away" he'd been giving off. Moira's appearance had surprised him, but it certainly wasn't as if the woman were not tenacious.   


Uncomfortable in the suit he'd felt necessary to wear, Doug turned away from the compound before him, moving across the island and towards the docks in a sudden flare of azure telekinetic energy. The winds -- unusually calm today, thanks to the influence of his Aunt Ororo -- were more breezes than anything, brushing through the thick black hair he'd inherited from his father. Three-fourths of the way to Muir's docks, Doug narrowed his eyes, expression falling into an uncharacteristic scowl. There was someone there, when all he wanted was to be alone.   


"Figures," the boy muttered only seconds later, recognizing the figure not only by its stance, but by a minute empathic link he shared with it. Mayana Drake. The technical middle child of the Drake clan, and the third adopted child of Bobby and Amy's. Doug's best friend, despite a four year age difference. She was probably one of the only women on the island not conforming to standard and wearing a dress -- he didn't recall if his Aunt Romany had or not, but rather doubted it. Arms crossed over her chest, the going-on-nineteen year-old Drake waited silently for her "little brother" to resume contact with terra firma.   


Neither Doug nor Mayana knew who her real parents were (and the latter didn't care one way or the other), but she'd manifested as a mutant about three years before. Enhanced everything was what Mayana called it. Superhuman strength, agility, senses, reflexes, speed... they'd made a lot of "second gen St. Croix" jokes at 'Yana's expense (and how ironic Kitty had found the nickname of her son's best friend!). Doug could only assume that she'd seen him take off, guessed as to his intentions, and taken off herself at some sixty miles per hour in an effort to "outrun" him. Either way, she was there.   


"Hey," was the teenaged girl's witty opening as she studied him. Doug mused over the strange resemblance between Mayana and Angie before responding with his own fair share of wittiness.   


"Hey."   


No words were really needed. They both shot a quick glance back over Doug's shoulder as precaution, stared at one another for several seconds more, then came together, elder enfolding the younger in a comforting hug. It was okay to cry now, Doug reasoned, even if he'd probably get ragged about it by 'Yana later on. But for the time being, all the normal rules were set aside, and Douglas proved himself to be his mother's son once more, sobbing much as she had before: in great, watery gasps accompanied by loud sniffles and unsteady limbs. Katherine Pryde-Wisdom had never cried prettily. Her son made no effort to discontinue family tradition.   


Towering a good half foot or so over Doug, Mayana bowed her head, heavy black hair shielding them both from anyone who might have considered looking for the missing teens. She didn't make an effort to console her friend, to tell him that everything would be all right -- Mayana, much as she loved her family, was the cynical realist of the Drake flock, and felt quite assured that everything -wouldn't- be all right -- but instead hushed his own efforts to speak, quieting Douglas with murmured nonsense. She'd had little experience with Peter Wisdom, who'd lived in England with his daughter while Katherine Pryde-Wisdom had stayed stateside with her son, but Mayana had loved her Aunt Kitty as surely as Douglas did his Aunt Amy, and it tore at her that they'd all be one less family member from this point on.   


Whoever had said death was a friend, Mayana decided, obviously never experienced its effects firsthand. Or second, for that matter.   


"I'm s-s-sorry," Doug finally stuttered close to fifteen minutes later as they both examined her tear-stained blouse.   


"Don't be." Mayana attempted a smile, and while it certainly felt uncomfortable, at least it stayed put. "This was Lily's, anyway," she said, referring to her sister. His shoulders started to shake again, though this time, with the near-hysterical laughter of those who teeter on the edge. The edge of what, Mayana couldn't say for sure. Doug staggered back, still laughing, and lightning-fast, Mayana snaked out one hand to catch the boy before he could fall.   


"Oh, G-God," he stammered, halfway between a cackle and a sob. "W-what'm I g-gonna do? These p-p-people..!" Brushing her hands away, Doug brought his own up to his temples, collapsing onto the dock with a loud thump. He curled up in the fetal position, unmindful of the clothes he'd donned so carefully earlier in the day. Mayana watched the boy with wide blue eyes, clamping her own learned shields down in an effort to spare Doug the emotions of one more person. It didn't help that he was beginning to frighten her.   


"I c-c-can't, 'Yana..!" A surprising number of tears tracked down his face. If Romany Wisdom had been present at the time, she would have gawked at his resemblance to her brother. If Kurt Wagner had been watching the scene, he would have been amazed at how much Doug appeared to look like Nightcrawler's surrogate sister. As it was, Mayana ignored her own thoughts along a similar train, instead kneeling next to the shaking, sobbing Doug, resting one hand on his back, and twining the other between his own fingers.   


"Don't lie to me, Dougie," she murmured in an almost whisper. "You can block everyone, and you know it." Nothing. "You can take care of Angie, too, if that's what you really want." Still nothing. "What would Rachel say if she saw you like this?" And that did it, of course. Rachel Summers, Doug's first crush and the decided love of his life for going on seven years. Just ignore the eight year age difference, and it would be pathetically cute. Rachel couldn't err in Doug's eyes. Rachel's opinion was the deciding factor on everything. Rachel, of course, considered him more of a younger brother than anything else. Not that Mayana felt such information was vital to Douglas' continued survival, or anything of that sort.   


One last sniffle, and he was sitting back up, if still on the dock. " 'm okay," he whispered, wiping at his eyes in a manner that took Mayana back at least nine years. She graced him with a soft smile that only a select few had seen since she'd turned eleven or so, one that hinted at how stunning she really would become as time passed by. Doug scrambled to his feet not long after, resisting the urge to use his coat sleeve as a tissue. "Wanna go back?"   


Mayana shrugged, the seeming picture of indifferent nonchalance. "Are your shields okay?"   


Doug hesitated in response, and she correctly guessed that he was checking them out for himself. "They'll do, long as everybody doesn't get worked up all at once."   


"Then let us rejoin the circus." Silently, to herself, Mayana made a mental note to have Douglas chat with Jessie Logan, Wolverine's wife and the family's resident empath. It worried her that even two years after manifesting, Doug was still having so much trouble in keeping up basic shields, though his telekinesis seemed perfectly serviceable.   


Mayana waited as Doug took a deep breath. Exhaled. Took another. Exhaled again. One last inhalation, and he was calm, composed. "Let's."   


They took their time in returning to the compound, walking in companionable silence. It was a nice perk to their relationship, Doug had once theorized. Words had never been necessary.   


By the time they did return, it was easy to tell those who had understood Douglas's need for silence and few people from those who did not. His Aunt Samantha directed a reassuring smile his way, while her eldest son, Benjamin, did little more than study his junior with a puzzled expression.   


Doug gave his sister a quick once over before anything else. She stood silently, gaze unfocused, arms akimbo at her sides, hands unseen thanks to the long sleeves of the trenchcoat she wore, one apparently taken from their father's wardrobe. Behind her and to one side stood Chantinelle -- Ellie -- the succubus acquaintance of their Uncle John's, who had been bound as Angela's guardian while Katherine had still been pregnant with her. Over the years, she had become attached to her charge, and in their mutual caring of Angie, Ellie and Doug had come to a certain point of respect. She was in her human form, Doug had noted with equal parts thanks and pain. Ellie's human guise was eerily similar to that of his mother's, and from the emotions it stirred in him, he could only imagine what it did to Angie. It was a better choice, however, than her actual succubus appearance.   


Nonetheless, he smiled shakily at her, only to have it returned. After murmuring a few ineffective words to his sister, Doug turned away with what felt like a hole in his heart. Mayana made no effort to leave his side, and for that, he was thankful. He turned to his parents' graves, remembering the handful of dirt he'd tossed upon each. For a moment, he hesitated.   


It was the sight of another trenchcoat-clad figure, and the woman and child not far from it that bolstered Doug's courage. His and Angie's "uncle," John Constantine, aunt, Romany Wisdom, and their son -- a bastard in every sense of the word, Doug mused with some measure of humor -- Akili. Doug's almost twelve year-old cousin watched him with keen eyes. Having spent most of his life in the States with Kitty, he'd never been as close to his father, aunt, cousin, or even John and Ellie, as he'd liked. Neither boy was entirely sure of what to make of the other, though they'd spoken on more than one occasion. Akili, though, had been quite fond of his mother's brother, and while he'd shed few tears, he too felt the gaping loss of family.   


Romany spotted her nephew next, the aging woman (she was going on fifty-four, and John was even further ahead of that, but damned if either would admit to it) waving him over in a small gesture. At his side, Mayana sent off waves of reassurance, calming her friend.   


"Do you want me to come with?" she asked in a gentle tone, keeping her voice low and moderated. Doug shook his head, muttering a thanks before trodding over to his relatives and parents. He moved slowly, hesitant to look past Romany and Akili to John, who was kneeling at Pete and Kitty's graves, apparently in a deep, one-sided conversation. From what Doug knew of John, he was hardly surprised. He just prayed that it really was one-sided. Anything more, and he'd likely go mad.   


Turning his attention back to Romany (and finding that he was right -- she wasn't wearing a dress, after all), Doug suddenly found himself without words. He shuffled from foot to foot, wearing an expression of frustrated silence. With an inward smile, his aunt remedied the situation.   


"Leave it to Pete to spite me one last time and make me come out into this bloody sunshine," she drawled in clipped Oxford tones, studying the blue-grey sky thoughtfully. Doug caught himself smiling, and while it wavered, it also stayed.   


"I wouldn't be surprised if he and Mom plotted it behind your back," was his whispered response. He kept his gaze lowered, fixed on the cane Uncle John had given Romany some twenty years before, when she'd almost lost the use of one leg thanks to an encounter with the assassin Bullseye.   


Romany allowed herself a somewhat wary grin, turning to study her young nephew with a proud eye. He'd turned out quite nicely, all circumstances considered. "I wouldn't, either. You're carrying yourself quite well, Doug."   


Douglas, unsurprisingly, had the grace to blush crimson. At fourteen years old, he existed in the stage of life where compliments from the opposite sex, no matter what their age, were simultaneously humiliating and enthralling. As it was, he busied himself with straightening his suitcoat.   


"Thank you... I just figured, y'know, no one ever got to see me dressed nicely before... all this..." He clammed up, then, blush deepening and features compressing as he fought back another sudden gout of tears. Damned stupid emotions, always at an inopportune moment...   


He was surprised when Romany chuckled softly, attention no longer entirely focused on him, or so it seemed. "Doug... You're a Wisdom. We don't dress nicely." He frowned, then, in the way that all the young who attempted to further their age did. It caused him to momentarily appear adorable to the female species, but little more.   


And then his shock furthered, Romany seeming to pluck the unspoken thoughts right from his mind. "I know that you weren't raised by Wisdoms, Doug, but... you've got his look about you." There was an unexpected gentleness to his aunt's gaze, and as Doug gawked, she turned her attention back to the graves. At the site, John Constantine had shooed his son off in an attempt to gain privacy, kneeling at the graves of his friends. It was a picture that Romany was all too familiar with.   


At that, Doug all but visibly puffed up. He stood straighter, chin raised. While he'd never known his father as well as he'd hoped for, being compared to the Englishman was certainly a compliment. As with Mayana, he murmured a thank you, this time directed his aunt's way.   


"Never a problem, Doug. I never speak less than the truth." For a moment, Doug and Akili met gazes, the two boys studying one another warily. They weren't well acquainted, contrary to Angie and Akili, and sized one another up in traditional teenage male fashion. Their staredown was interrupted when Romany tapped her son behind his knees with her cane, causing the boy to stagger and interrupting the intentional scuffing of his dress shoes. "Stop that, or I'll make you keep wearing them," she warned in the sort maternal tones which crossed all boundaries.   


Akili huffed in response, muttering unintelligibly under his breath as he edged back in his father's direction. Doug, surprised yet not at the action, blurted out a random statement as a distraction. "It's nice to hear someone that isn't just bullshit consoling me."   


"Of course not. I'm British. I don't believe in it," Romany smirked. Several yards away, John Constantine shoved himself to his feet, swaying unsteadily for several scant seconds before making a futile attempt to brush the grass stains from his trousers. Akili moved to steady his father, speaking quietly to the elder Constantine.   


"Never heard you talk so long to one person, Pop." From a distance, both Douglas and Romany watched John lightly cuff his son upside the boy's head.   


"Two. Respect who's at your feet, Akili." The towheaded boy made a face, rubbing at the back of his head and muttering under his breath.   


"See how they abuse me?" John sighed, directing Akili's attention towards his darker cousin, who was continuing to fumble for words before Romany.   


"You could be worse off, now couldn't you?" he drawled, a quicksilver smile appearing on his weathered features.   


Romany shook her head, continuing to speak lightly for her nephew's sake. "Wonderful... I swear to you, Doug, those two are worse than the Three Stooges." Even as she spoke, father and son were making their way from the gravesite. As they approached, John spoke up, a surprising note of concern in his voice.   


"Holding up, are you, Wisdom?"   


Doug allowed himself a moment's contemplation. "I'm trying." It was an honest response, at least.   


"All you can do, now isn't it?" John continued on before the boy could even think. "I take it your aunt already made an offer to stay with her?" Nodding, Douglas cast a not-quite-smile Romany's way. John sidestepped, then, moving out of his occasional lover's immediate range. "Not mad enough to take her up on it, are you?"   


Doug stifled a burgeoning grin, something which only further shocked the teenager. He was grinning like an idiot, right next to his dead parents. How suiting.   


"Like I told Aunt Romany, I appreciate the offer and everything, but I think that Angie and I need to figure things out by ourselves..."   


It was his aunt that spoke first, nodding in understanding. She was as familiar with people needing space as she was with the mortality level of John Constantine's friends. In truth, she'd silently marveled on more than one occasion that she'd lived as long as she had. She'd also considered putting a restraining order on John, if only to protect their son, but such was another matter entirely.   


"Of course, Doug. And I don't think I'll need to spout that garbage of always being here if needed?"   


Akili, standing between his parents, worked desperately at his tie, cursing under his breath. "Yeah, you might wanna pray they won't be." Doug looked askance at his cousin, who was coming close to strangling himself in an effort to be rid of the knotted piece of silk.   


"We're gonna be staying at Dad's old apartment, actually... not too far away... We'll be keeping in touch."   


Romany frowned musingly, looking sidelong to her son, then back to her nephew. She loved both boys with a mother's unwavering intensity (dismissing the fact that only one was her actual son, of course), but if there were anything in the world which she wanted, it was for Akili to never turn out like Douglas. The Englishwoman was quite aware of Doug's playful side, having heard plenty of tales from Kitty, but with his parents' deaths, it seemed to have dissipated in a whirl, leaving him as an adult stuck in a fourteen year-old's body. "The door is always open, luv. Don't be too much of a stranger to us, then?"   


"Yes'm," Doug replied, making an honest effort of staring down the grass at his feet. What was it his Aunt Jubilee would have said? Oh, right. 'This sucks hard.' "I can't say that we'll be around right away... Angie doesn't seem to be up to visiting..." He ducked his head, embarrassed at how smoothly the grown ups' twisting of words suddenly came to him. "...but eventually..."   


Intercepting, Romany raised the boy's chin with one long-fingered hand, forcing his line of sight to meet hers. "I don't expect a daily ring, luv, but a word every decade or so... And Doug?" The dark haired boy frowned, lightly tanned forehead furrowed in question. Romany smiled softly, the expression taking years away from her own features. "Don't forget to let people in once in a while."   


He almost -- almost -- parried with an automatic "I can't." A second longer of studying his aunt's face, however, and that thought was dismissed quickly as it appeared. "I'll try," he whispered instead, large brown eyes falling away from Romany's. From his place nearby, John observed in wonder, debating if he'd ever seen so much pain in so young a face. Despite his many experiences, John Constantine was hard pressed to say yes.   


"All I expect, dove. Take care of yourself and Angie before anything else," Romany said softly. At her side, Akili had succeeded in removing his tie, and gleefully balled the material up, shoving it into one pocket.   


"That's what I'd intended--" Doug got no further in his words as the four people suddenly became aware of another presence. Angela Wisdom stood before her parents, the succubus Chantinelle off to one side. Quite suddenly, Doug felt like screaming. He let out an almost imperceptible whimper, and once more tightened his lax shields against the onslaught of emotion. This time, from his sister, who'd almost been a walking corpse not fifteen minutes before.   


Angela stood much as she had the entire day; unmoving, seemingly unbreathing. The occasional blink was the only reaction of any sort which she allowed herself. Romany and Akili frowned collectively at the scene, the latter in particular far from liking such heavy emotions. Doug stared for several long moments, doing much as his sister did. He stood stone still, a small facial tic a bare sign of life.   


And as suddenly as he'd stopped, the youngest of the Wisdom clan became animated, moving to Angela's side almost in a blur. Were she not so concerned for her niece, Romany would have smiled at the boy's muttered "bloody fuck." His penchant for curses seemed another parallel to his mother.   


Seemingly from no where, Angela produced a small bottle, stereotypically wrapped in a brown paper bag. As Douglas's eyes widened, Akili looked up to his parents with a whispered "Can we go now?"   


John and Romany ignored their son, the former turning to hiss epithets at Chantinelle. "You were supposed to keep her away from here, you stupid tart!" The succubus said nothing at first, placidly watching her charge with an unblinking eye.   


"She can do whatever she'd like, John. I'm her guardian, not her dictator."   


Romany clenched her teeth, gritting out words. "Even so, Ellie... She'll end up hurting herself this way."   


At the graves of Katherine and Peter, their first child shook a strangely empty bottle, sniffling quietly as she did so. For a moment, brother and sister made eye contact. Within seconds, Angela had turned away, unable to look at the expression of hurt which painted Doug's features. "Hey... Angel?" His eyes widened even further as Angela suddenly threw the bottle over one shoulder, and briefly, he watched it roll down the grassy hill they stood upon.   


"Hmm?" she responded, rummaging through the trenchcoat she wore. Doug had been right in his first guess, he realized -- it was one of their father's. The smell of Marlboros, scotch and cheap but pleasant aftershave was unmistakable, even to a boy that only visited his paternal family twice a year.   


As Romany, Ellie and John continued to argue ("It's her decision, Romany. I won't make it for her," Chantinelle stated, causing her peers to hush in grudging agreement.), Akili crept away from them, edging towards the abandoned bottle. Before he'd moved a full three feet, his mother had him by the collar.   


Not far away, Doug made a small, confused gesture towards a small flask she was removing from her father's trenchcoat. "Where did you get that?" He didn't ask if she was all right, though the words were certainly there.   


Angela peered at her brother through glazed eyes, shock still present. "I found it in Da's stash."   


Hands clenched at his sides, Doug set his jaw. "How much have you had to drink?" Angie had never done this to herself before, he realized. The hole in his heart tore a little wider.   


"Two...three..." Angie shrugged indifferently, making an avid study of her parents' headstones. "Ten or so." Doug reached over, removing the flask from her unnervingly cold fingers, and silently praying that he wouldn't receive any hotknives to the brain for it.   


"Angel... don't. Please. You're gonna screw yourself up like this..."   


She scoffed indignantly, and Douglas silently wondered if his relatives knew any psychiatrists, upon seeing that she was also beginning to drool. As if that blank stare weren't enough to frighten him? Akili went wide-eyed as his elder cousin turned to Romany. "Am I screwing m'self up?"   


She received no response, Romany instead pulling her son close. It wasn't her place to say anything. As John and Ellie continued to watch in silence, Doug adopted the look of shock and fear that Akili had donned not long before. He'd never in his life been quite so terrified in regard to anyone.   


As Ellie sighed, Akili's lack of reserve caused him to blurt out a reply for his mother's sake. "Yes!"   


Taking the boy's word entirely wrong, Doug guessed, Angie swung back around to face him. "See? Perfectly stable." She coughed, seeming to concentrate, and Doug closed his eyes. "Stable, perfectly stable."   


He inhaled sharply, forcing himself to retain a measure of calm. It didn't help the scowl that'd appeared on his face, though, which was irritating and uncomfortable. "Like hell you are." Angela swung around once more, this time nearly toppling over. As she attempted to steady herself, Doug recognized the fact that he was sliding into a rage, and began waving the confiscated flask about. "What would Mom say, Angel? What would Dad say, huh?!" Seemingly assured that she'd regained her balance, Angela took a shaky step forward.   


"If you would all excuse me, I'm going to get refueled... refilled... retanked." A minute pause, and Angela looked back at her brother. The smile which touched her lips was one of the dead, he had no doubts. "Da'd be proud."   


"Even I know better than that, Angel, and I hardly knew him at all..." He shuddered at the emotions she was giving off, unable to recognize them in any way, shape or form.   


"Right nice stability you've got," she said aloud in an attempt to match the deeper tones of Peter Wisdom. Doug's breath caught on more tears, and his chest began to hitch as he inhaled. "You'll make it just fine..." As Angela staggered down the hill -- by this point, it was obvious how much she really had imbibed -- Douglas stared, horrified beyond immediate reason and unsure whether his sister had been better off as a zombie, or a raving lunatic. He found that he couldn't decide.   


The others continued to watch in silence as Doug flung the small flask away from him. He gave it a telekinetic shove, and it became a silver projectile, taking off with the speed of a bullet. He began to chase after his sister, but recognizing the way the long-legged girl had outdistanced him, launched himself into the air seconds later. Never in his life had he been more glad that there was _some_ aspect of his mutancy which he had control over.   


When he finally caught up with Angela, she'd made it to Muir's boat dock (and inwardly, Doug allowed himself a small, manic smile at their similar reactions). She sat in one of the small motorboats Moira kept at hand, tugging on the tie line with obvious hopes of starting the engine. Doug's landing wasn't gentle; he was too upset to concentrate, and the boy dropped into a staggering run, much as his sister had earlier. Angie eventually thumped back in between the two seats of the boat, panting. "I think it's stuck."   


Doug slowed to a trot, then to the walk of a man much older than his few years. "Angel, please. Leave it alone for a minute?" She complied, shrugging diffidently.   


"You're the boss."   


He visibly winced at that, hating the reminder. He was the man of the house. Was he going to have to take care of an insane sister now, too?   


A fair distance away, Romany Wisdom quieted her son's pleas to leave. Settling the boy next to his father, she began the trek after her niece and nephew.   


Douglas, in the meantime, studied his sister with a wary eye. He sat on the docks ("Indian-style," was what he remembered his mother calling it), moving slowly, as if his sister were a wild animal that wasn't to be spooked instead of an orphaned British girl. "We have to settle things, Angel... we have to figure it all out."   


Angela pulled herself back up, sliding from one stage of shock from another. Doug had no trouble seeing that she was becoming angrier as the seconds ticked by. "I am going to settle things. I'm going to the mainland, to get m'self recruited."   


Though he'd only lived in England with Angela and their parents for little more than a week, he immediately realized what his sister was saying. England was known for gradually becoming a divided nation, and factions had settled into two. The Falcon, and the Triad. Relatively good, or sadistic. The idea that either would appeal to Angie was a nauseating one.   


"Recruited..? You can't be serious..."   


"I am," was Angela's calm response. She busied herself with trying to start the boat's motor again, though finding the cord was difficult enough a task, considering how much she'd had to drink. Both siblings heard the click of bootheels across the wooden planks of the dock, and while Doug immediately recognized his aunt thanks to an empathic imprint, Angela paused to look up.   


"But they'd boot camp you, Angel..." He jumped despite himself as the boat's motor suddenly came to life with a roar.   


"It's all part of the plan."   


Behind Doug, Romany's voice was soft, more to herself than anything. "You always did get carried away with your plans, Angie." Doug ignored his aunt for the time being, leaning forward on crossed knees. His expression was one of earnest worry.   


"But if they take you away, Angel, what'll I do..?"   


The nineteen year-old sighed in exhaustion, slumping back against one of the seats yet again. She turned her attention upwards, to Romany, and then back to her brother. She'd never been quite so overwhelmed with guilt before, and it was a frustrating feeling. "You've got family that'll take care of you, runt."   


Doug remained fixated on his sister. With a furrowed brow, a puzzled frown, a rumpled suit and tousled hair, neither of the two women thought that he'd ever been more his father's son. He didn't want to accept what Angela was doing... how could she have the audacity to leave the people that loved her behind? For that matter, how could his parents have done the same thing?   


"Angel," he began with the insistent logic of a fourteen year-old. "_You're_ my family."   


Angie studied her two remaining direct blood relatives for a long moment, contemplating. Doug jumped when she attempted to rev the boat's engine, scrambling back. "You'll be fine. Just stay here." He stared in response, gawked at her with the same pained eyes that Peter Wisdom had never been able to resist in Katherine Pryde, and finally nodded. As Angela tore off for the mainland, Romany kneeled next to her nephew, resting one hand on a thin shoulder.   


"She's only dealing with it the best way she knows how."   


Doug shook with suppressed hurt and rage, refusing to cry once more. He could cry for his parents -- their leaving hadn't been intentional. But Angela? To hell with her. He didn't need her. In fact, he might as well tell that to Romany. She could never be seen again, for all he cared.   


Opening his mouth, Douglas prepared to rant against his sister. "She's running away. She's running away from _me. Why?_" That surprised him, and the previously banished sniffles returned again as Doug utilized his coat sleeve for a tissue, forgetting about his earlier attempts not to.   


"I can't answer that, Doug, but I do know that she doesn't want to hurt you along with herself."   


"She shouldn't be hurting herself in the first place," he whispered with fervor. Scrubbing at the tear tracks that were beginning to itch, Doug stared up at the eldest remaining Wisdom. "But... what'm I gonna do now?"   


"We all do at one time or another, luv," she responded, a sudden twinge in her heart at the boy's reactions. "You can come home with me, and then we can go from there, if you'd like."   


Hiccoughing, Douglas nodded slowly. He thought of what Moira would say upon discovering that Angie had seemingly snapped out of her shock and ran away, then shuddered. The thought of the Scottish woman's reaction alone was enough to frighten him. "That's okay? I... I don't think I want anyone else to know yet..."   


Romany graced him with a gentle smile, squeezing his shoulder in an effort to remind him that Angela was not his only remaining family. She truly felt for her nephew's plight, and just as much for her niece. "Of course. And no one else has to know. We can leave whenever you'd like, dove. Just give the word."   


Doug hiccoughed once more, looking out to sea and in the direction his sister took to. "Okay. I've gotta thank everyone for coming first, though..." He moved back up to his feet, attention turning back to his parents' graves. John and Akili remained, as did a small knot of people -- even from such a distance, Doug recognized Moira and her nephew, Simon Carstairs, though none of the others -- but Ellie was gone. He allowed himself a sigh of relief, then, understanding that there'd be someone to watch over Angela, even if it wasn't him.   


Romany smiled once more at the boy, taking off ahead of him and back towards her own family. She knew when people needed time to reflect, as Doug was aware. He sent out a small empathic tendril of warm thanks to the aging woman, pleased when her eyes widened in surprise. It wasn't often that anyone shocked Aunt Rom, and as he walked, he savored the feeling.   


It worried him, how the others -- his remaining family -- would react to what had occurred. Not just his parents' deaths, but eventually, he would have to tell them about Angie. In the meantime, though, he would let his aunt and uncle do all the talking, then go back with Romany and Akili. Doug recognized the fact that neither would be keen on him overstepping any boundaries, their normal rituals. He couldn't help but wonder what he'd do. A sudden flash of inspiration caused the boy to stop and stare at nothing in particular.   


London didn't have any superheroes anymore, did it..? 


End file.
